“Moyo, remember what I said. And please call your mother so she knows you’re okay.”
“Will do!” I say, wiping my hands on my blue denim.
“Love you all. Daddy A, out!” He throws up a peace sign.
“Love you too,” the girls reply in chorus.
“Please never say that again,” I say to him, laughing before he hangs up.
Things are quiet for a second, per usual when a phone call with my parents overlaps with brunch, but pick back up when Anjie heads to the sedan for more food. Because brunch is a weekly occurrence and carrying trays of food on the train is tiresome, her head pastry chef, Mike, graciously allows Anjie to use his car. Sewa and I believe he’s in love with her because why else would you hand off your car for an entire Sunday? But Anjie refuses to entertain the idea.
When she opens the tin foil, the decadent smell of asun sliders attacks my nose. The heavy scent of scotch bonnets hits first, making my eyes and mouth water. The smokiness of the goat meat comes through next, beautifully complementing the smell of jollof as it heats in the oven. The buns look freshly baked and fluffy, like cotton candy clouds. I cannot wait to get my hands on them. Sewa reaches for one, but Anjie swats her hand away.
“Before we dig in…” Anjie looks pointedly at Sewa. “I heard you’re giving dating another try.”
Can’t my dad keep something to himself for five minutes?
I give them a shortened version of my conversation, wanting to get to the delicious food. I throw in the bit about Uncle D because Anjie knows him from growing up around our family. Anjie and I met at the bright age of ten in Junior Secondary School One, where we were bunkmates and became life mates.
“Mr. A and I”—she clasps her hands dramatically—“are like this. Always in sync.”
I hit her with the big serving spoon and say, “My friend, let’s sit down and eat.”
We catch up over two sliders each, some wings, and two plates of rice between the three of us. Plus, half a champagne bottle.
“So…dating?” Anjie asks during the commercial break ofOnly Murders in the Building.
“Speaking of, did theCupidpeople ever send any response?” Sewa asks, jogging my memory of the hottie with the stunned face and the too-tight shirt. I’m about to lovingly cuss them out for forgetting, but then I remember I chose not to tell them. I take another sip of my drink, looking away from their insistent gazes.
The show resumes, but Sewa pauses it. She squints at me for several long seconds. It’s like watching a bloodhound.
“Yeah, she’s hiding something,” Sewa says matter-of-factly once she finishes her inspection.
“Oh, I know,” Anjie says, taking another sip.
There’s no use hiding anymore.
“Okay. They did send someone fromCupid’s Bow. This guy, Niyi. He told me about monetary compensation and a dating consultant, or a coach, I forget,” I say, sloshing my drink around. Niyi, the dark-skinned boy with the perfect smile and burning eyes who made the cool hospital waiting room feel blazing.
“See how she’s smiling at her drink,” Anjie jeers.
“I’m not smiling,” I say, but my face betrays me with a cheesy grin made worse by their aww’s and giggles. I hate these women so fucking much.
“Go on…tell us about him. You know you want to.” Sewa’s sing-song voice gives me the go-ahead.
“Okay, so imagine a guy about yay high.” My hands go above my head a couple of inches. “Gorgeous, dark skin—”
“Damson-dark or Keke-dark?” Sewa cuts in.
I pause, thinking back to the moment in question. The stark white shirt was a breathtaking contrast to the richness of his skin. I’m sure he glistens right out of the shower and glimmers during the summer.
“Darker than Damson.”
Sewa’s eyes widen, and Anjie’s head shoots back, accompanied by a low whistle.
I carry on. “His body also looked good. The white tee did wonders for his figure. I couldn’t see everything, but the biceps were prominent. His smile was sweet, and he had perfect teeth. You know how I feel about good dentition—”
They nod.
